


Never Is A Promise

by susabei



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Implied Incest, Multi, Not a Love Story, Other, This is a bet, Twilight Bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susabei/pseuds/susabei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And you can't afford to lie. [Imprint story with a twist. Contains OCs and British spelling]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. flourishing

**Author's Note:**

> Typical Twilight imprint story with a twist. Rated because young people have filthy mouths and habits. No happy endings here, please escort yourself off the premises if you want one.
> 
> Current story warnings are listed, but in the future, there will be:
> 
> Implications of incest  
> Emotional abuse (including manipulation)
> 
> **Please note that I, personally, do not categorise this story as 'Romantic', because that word means 'favouring emotion over logic'--and that is not what this story is about. If you think this is a love story, then the point has flown way over your head.

Something like a ghost, she passes by unnoticed and undetected by everyone, except for him. He cannot take his eyes off of her, and by God, why would he ever want to? Every movement of her body is fluid, like something choreographed by a hardened Russian ballerina or by some ancient ancestor of mankind who danced beneath the stars for rain and the harvest. There is something old about the way she continually strokes her thumb against the lighter in her hands, and something rough about the way her cigarettes clumsily fall to the ground by her bare feet, whose dirty soles provided a fascinating contrast with her pink skin. As the aforementioned cigarettes fall to the ground, she curses softly and retrieves another one from her coat pocket with her long and slender fingers--pianist fingers, as she would later tell him, though she has never played in her life.  
  
He is in Port Angeles, and for the life of him, he doesn't remember why. All that matters is her. Here. Before him. It's as if she was waiting for him here, all his life. Or hers, she looks young with that round face.  
  
And that's when he realises that he needs to talk to her, somehow, get her attention, cry out, something for fuck's sake!  
  
But she slips away before he can call out to her--pretend to be a lost tourist and then offer to light her cigarette for her.  
  
He leaves whatever he is doing, and whoever he is here for and weaves in among the crowd, attempting to keep her wispy, golden red hair in sight, less he lose her forever. He follows her spectre through mobs of people and dark shortcuts through alleways until he reaches a run down building with street art plastered on the white brick walls...Where is he? Who cares, all he knows is that she is inside, and that is where he must follow--  
  
There are looks of bewilderment thrown at him, a tall, dark, muscular man in contrast with sick, love obsessed artists who appear to be starving themselves for the sake of irony; all at once, he is afraid that this was the typical crowd she hung out with, and he hoped to whatever God was listening that she was merely here to pick up someone...her brother, maybe, he could handle that.  
  
Before he knows what is happening, he finds himself walking through a door that was much too white for a dirty place like this, and he sees her, disrobing herself in front of a circle of sketchers and he grows angry that they dare place their gaze upon _his_ imprint. He feels his jealously rising dangerously, but he is soon distracted by the sight of her calmly, unmodestly strutting towards the center as if it were her birthright to be there; she strikes a pose reminiscent of a Greek goddess, and sits perfectly still as the sketchers around her begin to rapidly draw out her form. This unfamiliar scene seemed alien to him, almost like a foreign ritual. But then he makes eye contact with her and all is right. He has seen into his future, and it is beautiful.  
  
-  
  
"You're in love with me, aren't you?" she tells him this bluntly, without a moment's hesitation, through a thick French accent; there's something ugly and bitter about the way she says _'in love'_ , but he ignores it. In fact, he finds himself quite speechless, despite having so many things to say to her. Despite having so many things he wants to do with and to her. Embrace her. Kiss her. Have her. Grow old with her.  
  
He has stayed for the entire drawing session, watching with fascination at the talented artists draw out her naked form, and at the same time feeling repulsed that she let other men gaze upon her, and at the same time frustrated that none of them could get her essence down right. What is this? He is not a man of art or poetry or anything related to the subjects. He is physical. Raw. Rough. Like mountains and the sea. He never thought he would see the day in which he would criticise the work of artists.  
  
"Don't answer that, I can see it in your eyes," she smokes a cigarette as she's talking to him, still naked in the room. He could see goosebumps rising on her skin from the chill of the broken A/C in the corner, "Wild boys, you all have the same look about you-" She's so close, he can smell the wine on her breath, and maybe that is where she is getting the confidence to be so vulnerable in a room filled with what he can only assume are strangers.  
  
"What look?" he finally speaks, and while he cursed himself over his choice of first words to her, his tone is amused: he does not take her seriously.  
  
"The look of a boy who thinks he is a man."  
  
That surprised him--because he looked nothing like a boy, not since his first signs of changing, and because he was expecting another answer, "You have a look of lust", "You look like you could eat me", "All you care about is one thing."; these phrases, now _this_ is what he was ready for; he had retaliations to all of these statements, and when he said them, she would be impressed, and he would take her out for coffee, or tea, or beer, or whatever the hell she liked, and then they would fall in love, just like in those trashy novels written by women; except this, this was real.  
  
"But you're not one of them," she turns her hollow gaze to the artists cleaning up, "so maybe..."  
  
Either she never finishes her sentence, or he has blocked out her words after 'maybe', but at the sound of that, his heart swells with hope.


	2. elegant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is mostly dialogue, my bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ho hum.
> 
> in case you don't know, the title is the song, [Never Is A Promise, by Fiona Apple](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c5XptSCCciU), who is the girl's 'faceclaim'. Just in the expressions, I think. In looks? Ehh. Maybe.

Sitting down across from her at a sandwich shop he has never heard of, he is only mildly disappointed that she is back to being clothed. She looks different than how she did back in the room full of artists, no longer fairy-like, no longer angelic; more raw, more solid, as if when they were together, she ceased to be as ghostly-like.

He is surprised when she orders a large burger with oily fries and a shake because she seemed to be the type to be vegan, or the type to drink tea unironically and eat homemade quiches. But he isn't complaining, it only makes him love her more.

 _"What the fuck are you staring at."_ her voice cuts him, because usually girls in movies would blush and look away when a boy would stare at them lovingly, but she seemed annoyed by his presence.

"Are you going to eat all of that?" his voice carries a smile.

"Don't touch my food." she means business, and it makes him laugh. Oh God, she's perfect, absolutely perfect.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm perfect." There was that tone again...the same bitter and ugly way she said 'in love' to him back at the white room. _Perfect._

"But you are." he can't help but say it, because he means it, and he's never meant anything more in all of his life.

Because she was made for him.

She scoffs angrily and takes a small handful of fries into her mouth, "You're worse than the artists...You sound like my mother."

That raises a lot of questions, and he is filled to the brim with curiosity about her life.

"Worse? You seemed to be quite comfortable around them," He brushes off her scoff; tries to appear confident.

She rolls her eyes, "I'm used to that environment; humans fascinate me."

"Humans? Aren't you one?"

"Am I?" she looks him in the eye as he is taken aback at the possibility. But no, she does not smell of something evil or supernatural, she smells like a human.

He's laughing at her words, "Of course you are!"

"You seem so sure of yourself; I hate that." she drinks from her shake when her mobile begins to ring. Something old, something French; the type of music he would expect to hear in a 1920's mafia movie. She answers knowing who it is, and begins to speak rapid French; at least, he feels it's fast, though she is probably speaking at a normal pace. Her face remains neutral throughout the conversation, and it's almost like he isn't even there. Who was she talking to? Her boyfriend? He had heard from Paul that French girls were the cheating type, but he mentally shakes his head at the thought; he should think better of her! Have faith.

Finally, she is finished with her conversation, and seems to be just a little more exhausted than before.

"Who was that?" he can't help but be nosy.

"My sister." she says with such a bitter tone, that he wishes he never asked.

"Oh." Shit. Damn. Fuck. Well either she hates her sister, or she hates him for wanting to know about her. Gotta change the subject, gotta change the subject, gotta change the subject,

"Where are you from?"

"Paris." the bitter and ugly tone returns, as if the city itself had scorned her.

More surprises; though she was definitely from either Canada or France, he didn't think Paris; not that he knew any other cities in France besides Paris. She didn't seem the type to be a Parisian, no designer clothing, no shoes, a big warm overcoat with fur trimming that went down to her knees, and tousled, light red hair.

"And your parents?"

She inhaled sharply, shit, that's a touchy subject too, and he was about to apologise and drop it, but she replied, "My mother is from Paris as well, and my father is from Marseilles."

"Are you staying here permanently-"

"Why are you interrogating me?" she interrupts him, looking into his eyes again, and he feels as if he is about to fall apart.

"You said it yourself, I'm in love with you." he means it to be teasing, but rest assured, he feels it. He knows he does.

"Now you sound like my sister," she shakes her head, seemingly disappointed in him, and he is not sure what to say to that.


	3. correct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yet enother chapter where we learn absolutely nothing about her
> 
> huehuehuehuehueh

He tells her he wants to see her again, and when she says no, he looks dejected and asks why.

_"Because you haven't even asked me my name."_

He looks surprised, and he mentally kicks himself for forgetting such an important question, as well as forgetting to introduce himself. He was just so caught up with actually finding her, especially since she mentioned she was only visiting the states. 'Not for long' he thought, mentally smiling.

Offering her his hand, he states his name, "Jacob."

She makes a face, either at his name or his outstretched hand, he doesn't know, and shakes his hand, "Masa."

Masa.

He wonders if she's telling the truth, but he doesn't know her well enough to tell. Instead he smiles and asks her where they can meet tomorrow.

-

He steps up to the porch of an inconspicuous house with herbs and food growing in the front yard and wonders if he has the right address.

Yesterday, after the oh-so-marvelous day he spent with _Masa_ , he headed home in a daze: mind filled with thoughts of their inevitable future together. When he arrived, Embry and Quil were angry at his sudden abandonment, for without Jacob's keys, they had no easy means of returning home, but Sam stopped them in the middle of their anger, because once he saw the look on Jacob's face, he understood what was happening. People congratulated him and patted him roughly on the back and asked all sorts of questions like "Is she pretty?" "How did it feel?" and "When's the wedding?" And he hated how intrusive they were, but he loved loved loved receiving the questions, knowing that he would soon introduce her to them and into his life, and inevitably live happily ever after.

But first, he has to knock.

He is in a particular rural part of Washington, in a place that is not quite a town, but almost a town. Almost, Washington, maybe. The house reminds him of the artistic district he found yesterday with it's white coat of paint chipping off, and the curtained windows that made him think about horror movies taking place out in the woods--did she live here? She didn't say, just that she would be here. Jacob eyes the bicycles scattered and parked in the front yard of the house, then at the old blue van parked behind him; did she have company? Did everyone share the rent? Or is this another strange art community get together? Wondering if everyone would sit around and speak French whilst ignoring him, he reaches up to knock on the door, firmly, but not in a threatening way. A young woman, perhaps around twenty-three, with dark olive skin answers, speaking with an accent he doesn't recognise,

"Oh," she seems to be shy, "You're, ah...Masa's friend?" she leans on the door, and he nods, not quite knowing how to answer her in speech, "Ah, yes yes...come in," she steps aside for him and turns her head back to alert somebody of his arrival in a language he believes to be Spanish, or maybe Italian.

The house is covered in an aura of comfort, almost as if it was a bed and breakfast; it helps that somebody in the kitchen seemed to be cooking something awfully delicious, and Jacob hopes that these people liked to share with strangers. On the inside, the paint is only a shade darker, and bluer than the outside, and it is still chipping; all of the furniture seems to have been carved from Shakers themselves, and there are books littered around where ever he turns. The olive-skinned woman shuts the door without locking it and guides him into the living room to present him to the others, "This is...ah, Jacob? Yes?" she turns to him for confirmation, and he nods again, "Jacob, yes, Masa said he was coming."

The people in the living room greet him in a variety of ways, from a simple nod of the head, to meek 'hellos' to formal handshakes--Jacob feels odd greeting all of them, because they're all so...friendly; especially compared to Masa, who, by the by, he did not see in the room--was she the one cooking in the kitchen? He hopes so, that means she can cook, and that is just another plus on his list. Unfortunately, a woman with dark, dark red hair tied in a side braid walks out of the kitchen with a frying pan in hand, a curious look on her face,

"This is Jacob," a guy slouching on the couch tells her, pointing to him.

The woman opens her mouth in understanding and nods, "Masa's upstairs with Marc...they're having a serious discussion, I wouldn't bother them. She'll be down soon, don't you worry." Jacob nods (again), and notices that the woman is cooking something with mushrooms. He hopes to God these people aren't vegans. But he places that thought in the back burner in his mind in favour of mulling over this 'Marc' person...Who the fuck was he, anyways? Serious discussion? Should he be worried? He tries to tune up his hearing to see if he could hear anything upstairs (he assumes they are in the attic because this looked to be a one-story house from the outside), but he is distracted by the sudden sound of steps descending from upstairs, and then the sight of Masa walking around a corner with a man with a beard and several piercings. Both look as if they've tasted something sour, and his nagging curiosity demands to know what they were talking about. Masa acknowledges him with a quiet grunt and sits herself on a small, velvet purple armchair across the coffee table from him. Unlike her, Marc greets him with firm politeness, and explains to him that this is his home. Jacobs has never felt more welcome in his life, and yet he cannot help but feel jealous and angry towards his stranger. He restrains himself, however, and makes himself at home at his insistence, sitting down next to the slouching man on the couch.

"You want a beer?" a tattooed woman with short hair asks him, and he refuses, telling them he is too young to drink.

"No fucking way," the slouched man says, astonished, "You have to be at least twenty-three,"

Jacob feels his ego growing as others chirp in agreement, attempting to guess his age.

The tattooed woman laughs, in good spirit, "Masa, where'd you find this kid, he's practically a baby."

Masa shrugs, preferring to focus on her fingernails, "He followed me home."

-

After four hours sitting in this house, he is no closer to Masa than he was, but he is quite close with her friends. They like him, and he decides that that can't hurt one bit, especially since they are growing on him too. He likes this little community of hers, it reminds him of the bonds he has with his own pack and family, despite how distant Masa herself seemed from the rest of her friends.

A short, hispanic, native american looking woman with glasses (he forgot her name) is giving them all a lecture on why time travel is impossible when a phone in the next room rings, and the red-haired woman who was cooking earlier (Ava) stands up from her spot on the floor to answer it. When she comes back, she gestures to Masa, who was busy listening to her friend's lecture. Jacob watches them discreetly as the woman mouths something to his imprint that makes her tense up. Masa gets up without excusing herself and goes to, he assumes, answer whoever was calling. When she leaves the room, the lecture stops, and everyone peeks or turns to the entryway to the front of the house for a second.

"Ten bucks says it's Rose--"

"Shut the fuck up, Steven, Rose would have called her cell phone, it's probably her mom."

"Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, her mom wouldn't call ahead of time, she'd just show up!"

"All the way from Paris? Please."

"You obviously haven't met her mommy dearest, then--"

"Oh and _you_ have?"

"Why don't we just ask Ava...?" the woman previously lecturing on time travel suggests meekly as the olive-skinned woman who had greeted him at the door (Maria) laughs.

The two arguing turn towards Ava, who was busy sipping from her mug of hot chocolate, and Jacob turns to her too, confused and curious, "He was a man with a beautiful voice, and even more beautiful manners,"

"Daddykins it is, then," the tattooed woman (was it Daisy??) says, taking another swig of her beer. The people nod and 'ahh' in understanding and realisation, but Jacob merely squints in confusion.

Marc laughs, he was sitting beside him, and pats him on the back, "You're looking a little bemused there, Jake--haven't met the parents yet?" there is a teasing tone in his voice, and Jacob doesn't know how to feel about that.

"She, ah, told me a little about them--seems not to like them much,"

He is met with a chorus of amused chortles and giggling, "You don't know the half of it," the previously slouched guy (Anthony) tells him, "She pretty much hates them for bringing her and her sister into the world."

That thought does not click as something to laugh at in Jacob's mind, but he lets them continue explaining.

"Don't get us wrong," Marc says, talking with his hands, "Masa's not about being suicidal or anything; she just dislikes how irresponsible her parents were...and are--as if they would live forever."

"--Which they totally will," Daisy cuts in, nodding.

That set off alarms in Jacob's mind, but he laughs it off, "You're not serious, are you?"

" _God yes_ ," she replies, "Have you seen them? They both look so damn young, it's ridiculous--not to mention inhumanly gorgeous."

Maria sighs wistfully, "Their entire family is beautiful--what a gene pool."

Marc waves them all off, "Don't listen to them Jake, they just have the hots for Masa's dad."

"Shut the hell up, Marc, you'd fuck him if you had the chance, admit it--" Anthony says, smoking something that Jacob swears is weed. Marc flips him off but doesn't deny nor confirm the other's accusation.

"The worst part is that they look natural, y'know?" Daisy says leaning on her right arm, "Either they had her and her sister when they were freaking young, or they're vampires."

Her words set him on edge.

"Ugh, don't fucking talk to me about vampires, Daisy," the time-lecturer groans, "We'll be here all night--"

"Besides, if they were vampires, it'd mean Masa would have to be one too, and then she wouldn't be able to eat human food." Steven reasons as Ava hums in agreement, "And she wouldn't have all those freckles either."

"She gets those from genetics, smart one," the woman who was previously arguing with Steven (Lena) chimes in, "One blond, one brunette, equals a red headed baby. People with red hair have freckles. Besides, it depends what type of vampire you're talking about,"

"Oh God," Marc groans, rubbing his eyes, "Here we go,"

Jacob wishes he could be interested in the topic but all too easily he is consumed with the sudden fear that maybe, Masa's parents _are_ bloodsuckers, and that maybe once she gets to be of certain age, she would get turned too.

Just the thought made him burn with anger.

Luckily, Masa walks back not too soon after the topic of vampire types was started. Oddly enough, they have strayed away from the original topic and are now discussing what musical to put on for the the end of summer.

"Yo Masa," Daisy inquires as said woman sits herself next to Ava, "You wanna play Roxie?"

"I can't sing." she states as if this was obvious.

"I can coach you," Ava offers, smiling, "You'd be the perfect Roxie, come on."

Masa scoffs, "What, because of my hair?"

"Hold up, hold up, I think she'd be a good Velma." Maria interjects, but Steve shakes his head, "Nonono, that won't work, not that I'm doubting your ability, Masa," Masa grunts in response, showing her indifference, "But...imagine Rose as Velma."

The room erupts in a chorus of 'oooh's and Masa rolls her eyes. Jacob smiles.

"You think she'd do it, Masa?" Marc asks

"She'd do everything she could to steal the show, so yes." Masa states simply, looking at a fork as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. The others grin, and Marc continues, "So then it's settled; we'll do Chicago and you two will star in it."

 _"I can't sing."_ Masa repeats, _"If I was meant to sing, I would be singing."_

"It's because you smoke," Anthony lectures, and then laughs at his own joke.

"It's because you have an untrained voice," Ava corrects, shaking her head at the other, "Don't worry you'll be fabulous."

Masa sighs, looking up at the ceiling and Jacobs wonders what she is thinking about.


	4. political

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took for freaking ever, ugh

He spends time with her everyday, slowly but surely learning her mannerisms; her dislike of cheese in a can and fast food and microwavable lunches, for example. Her philosophy is that things shouldn’t be rushed—they should move at their natural pace. That is how she enjoys life, and that is why he is waiting to tell her about his own life. She doesn’t ask questions, though she surely has them, and he likes that she respects his privacy, though he sure as hell doesn’t return the favour; he is always asking her questions; questions about her life back in Paris and her friends and why she’s in the states, and she always replies with blunt, short answers; answers that give only what is necessary, but not what he actually wants to know. Jacob figures that, like Masa’s always telling him, everything will come to fruition in its own time. The trick was to be patient. 

But he was not a patient person. 

As it is, she’s never embraced him or held his hand or looked into his eyes other than to intimidate him (which she does very well, though not for the reasons she thinks), and he feels that if he does not make his mark soon, he will be in what Paul likes to call “the friend zone”—something that she doesn’t even believe exists for reasons that confuse him. Surely she did know his intentions…right? Wasn’t that made clear back in that murky studio when she was standing bare before him, the goosebumps rising delicately on her skin? He shivered at the memory of her tall, round body—like the bodies of sculpted Greek women: slender and plump—light. If he had met her before his first phase, he wouldn’t have found her as mesmerising, but now that he thinks of her, he thinks of perfection. The pinnacle of female beauty. He wonders why she is single and why none of her straight male friends have shown any traces of physical attraction to her, but he doesn’t complain because no one should be looking at her like that. No one but him.

His blatant possessiveness has irritated and confused her, but that is just because she doesn’t understand—she doesn’t yet realize just how important she is to him; if anything, everyone knew how important she is to him except for her. Everyday, when he got back home, he’d get sly and knowing looks from many and then teasing questions from his closer friends—and Paul. Whenever he had the chance to talk to Bella, she would smile and cheer him on, telling him that she couldn’t be happier for him (particularly since the Victoria incident, though she didn’t mention that part,). She, out of everyone else he knows, has been insisting the most on meeting Masa. Jacob feels as if Bella is his protective older sister, a radical change from how he felt about her mere weeks ago, but in truth, he expresses a desire to keep his imprint all to himself. Like Masa says: everything in its own time; soon enough, she will get to meet his friends and family and then learn the truth about him—something which he was very very apprehensive about. 

In an attempt to sooth over the introduction, he had been subtly dropping subjects like werewolves into their conversations to try and gauge her opinion on the existence of things that should not exist in the first place. She showed disinterest in the subject until it was brought up when in her group of friends, and everyone started chattering about theories and different types of werewolves and their favourite supernatural television shows. Masa seemed aloof to the topic, but Jacob knew she was listening in; later, when walking in the woods with her, she had told him that she doesn’t doubt the existence of any of these things, but that she would prefer they all stay away from her on account that she was tired of immortal being coming into her life. He had replied that traditionally, werewolves were not immortal and she responded with telling him that ‘Since when are monsters ever like they’re written in the books?’ He had nothing to say to that, and so the conversation ended.

At the moment, he is driving up to the white house where he met her friends a few days back to pick her up from a vocal lesson; Ava had been training her voice for a performance they all planned to do at the end of the summer. In the beginning, Masa had been opposed to the idea, but she had been persuaded for a reason unknown to Jacob. Perhaps she enjoyed being invisible, and being the lead in this musical was simply too much attention for her. Regardless he looked forward to seeing her in it because he heard from Bella that it was a very adult musical with garter belts and half dressed women—he had seen a short clip of it (a trailer for a movie version done about three years back) on the internet, and was a little confused to see the lead being a blonde, considering Masa had accused her friends of wanting to cast her for the same role due to her hair. Upon asking her this, she stated that, back home, her hair would lighten up to blonde during the summer (he had sat there and wondered on how she would look as a blonde. More wispy maybe—and definitely more angelic. He decided that it suited her and her pale grey eyes better than her red hair, which he loved, of course, he loved every part of her). He had asked if she really was going to go through with this because she seemed to not want to, and she replied that this group of friends was always thinking up projects like this and that rarely were they actually done. He did not understand what sort of projects were similar to putting on a musical, and when he inquired about it, Masa listed off previous examples: indie movies, music video projects, living in a WV van and driving around the country making money from music and selling crafts—she had not mentioned whether any of these projects were failed or successful, but she didn’t seem to really want to talk about it, so Jacob didn’t ask again.

Another thing that confused him was her choice of words: “this group of friends”…did she keep various groups of friends separate from each other like control groups in an experiment? She had implied that she traveled often, so maybe she had a select cluster of people to house and entertain her in different parts of the globe. This thought amused him and when he finally shared it with her, she rolled her eyes and mumbled something in French. It made him a little irritated that she didn’t elaborate, and when sharing this information later with his friends, Leah (who has some kind of fucking bat hearing, he swears) commented that Masa was under no obligation to share anything with him, and that he was lucky she hadn’t kicked him to the curb yet. His friends laughed, at him and at the thought of someone’s imprint wanting to cast away the person who was basically their soulmate. Jacob didn’t find it as funny.

Pulling up to the mock dirt driveway, he sees that Masa is already waiting for him outside, sitting on the stone steps leading up to the house and smoking. She has just gotten done with speaking with somebody on the phone, it seems. Seeing him pull up, she stuffs her old-fashioned phone into her leather bag and puts out her cigarette on the stone beside her before getting up and walking into his car—she had specifically requested that he be there to pick up her, and his excited him because usually she hitch-hiked or got a ride from one of her friends; this led him to purge his ride from any and all messes—not that there were many, mind you, because he took good care of his baby. 

“We have to pick up my sister from the airport.”

“—Huh.” He is dumbfounded. She rolls her eyes,

“My sister. She’s landing soon.”  Her hands look empty without a cigarette and she moves them around, looking for something to do with them, “She’s going to want flowers, we need to stop for flowers—” she looks almost panicked, and it is a rare sight indeed for Jacob, or anybody.

She continues to list off things needed to do before the arrival of the much talked about Rose, and Jacob sighs, having previously hoped to have Masa all to himself for the rest of the day.

Well at least he’ll finally get to meet her sister, which, after many days of learning about her through Masa’s nosy, but well meaning friends, he has concluded that they have a playful, hateful, loving relationship.

Like all siblings, in other words.

Regardless of his disappointment, he cannot disappoint Masa, and he drives obediently, like a dog, to a flower shop, a wine store, and then to the small airport. On the drive there, he refrains from asking her questions about her, and Masa busies herself with resting her chin on the palm on her hand and staring out the window, biting her nails uneasily. The bottle of wine (which was so incredibly expensive, Jacob wondered if it could turn into water and cure cancer) rested against her calf. The red roses on her lap (six, she had explicitly specified) lay unbothered and perfect.

Jacob had heard of Rose through third parties, like he usually did when learning about Masa, but what he had learned had been very little (also equivalent to what he had learned of Masa).

The first thing he learned was that Masa was four years older than her, and spent most of her childhood looking after Rose whilst their parents did whatever it is they did. The second thing he learned was that they were close. Very very close. He learnt this upon Marc’s joking suggestion that he ask Rose out, and Masa’s reaction, which was to turn sharply to glare at him and say, “Don’t touch my sister.”

The third, and perhaps the most important thing he learnt, was that Rose was dangerous.

“She will destroy him,” he remembers Masa explaining to him later that day on why she got upset at Marc, “She will eat him whole.”

He didn’t really understand what she was really saying, but what he took from it was that Rose was a heartbreaker. Must run in the family.

All Masa talked about on the subject was to prep him for meeting her: don’t look her in the eye, don’t let her get under your skin, don’t even look at her, cover your goddamn eyes—

But once at the airport, Jacob spots Rose immediately, even without ever seeing her, he knows.

She shines like a beacon or a siren, calling out to sailors lost at sea, and the feeling reminds him of when he had first sighted Masa, minus the imprinting of course. Once, Daisy had mentioned that Masa’s sister was the exact opposite of her in that Masa always went by unnoticed whilst Rose always seemed to have a spotlight showing on her. Jacob, of course, disagreed with this because to him, nothing shone brighter than his imprint, but Rose was a close second. He writes it off as the two being related and focuses on safely parallel parking whilst continuing to examine Rose. She is shorter than Masa, but more petit but with the same amount of light, feathery plumpness. In this lighting her eyes look to be purple, but he knows that cannot not be true, and that they are probably blue. He finds himself being attracted to Rose, but not in anyway experienced before—the thing of the matter is that Rose is clearly a naturally interesting person, and in the back of Jacob’s mind, he tries very hard to ignore a theory that Bella was telling him the other day: a theory that says that maybe you have the same chance of imprinting on one person as imprinting on that person’s sibling; after all they share the same genes, right? Shouldn’t they both be fit to carry on that special wolf gene?

Before he knows it, Masa has gotten out of the car with the flowers and wine in arms, and she’s running over to her sister—also barefooted, it seems—who looks just elated to see Masa, and together, they embrace as if they hadn’t seen each other in a lifetime.

- 

Masa sits in the back with her sister, whom she introduced as Rosemary (which gave Jacob flashbacks about seeing a really boring movie with Bella), and talks about who knows what in soft, calm French as the other lays her head down on her lap. Rose, upon meeting Jacob, curtsied and gave him a look that made him blush.

“Oh he’s a blusher!” she remarked to Masa, who seemed to be enjoying his discomfort, “Masa, you brought me a blusher, how did you know what I wanted for my birthday?”

Masa pointed out that her birthday was six months ago, and that she shouldn’t prey on young boys anymore.

They are holding hands right now, and Jacob figures that it’s the calmest he’s ever seen Masa. It wasn’t the same cool aura she gave off every other day, but it felt more tired to him. Sleepy, almost. It’s the closest he’s ever been to seeing her smile and that in itself is an accomplishment for him.

Once Masa had fallen asleep, Rose turns her head to gaze at Jacob, and he suddenly feels self-conscious, _“Jake,”_ she says with odd familiarity, _“What is it you do?”_

Her voice reminds him of Masa’s, but smoother…less genuine perhaps, “I fix cars.”

He can feel the smile in her voice, “Oh? My sister does not usually sleep with mechanics.”

Jacob tightened his grip on the steering wheel at the thought that Masa had been with other men before him, “We’re not together.” He states, though it hurt to say so.

“Really? Because you seem to adore her,” she comments, humming to herself, “And this is the longest she’s ever stayed in one place.” 

Shit, she’s getting into his head—But damn, if her words don’t elate him. Surely, despite all those mistakes Masa made before meeting him, this means that he’s different. That she likes him. Definitely. Maybe.

Definitely.

From the back of the car, Rosemary smiles to herself and looks back at the face of her sleeping sister, brushing a long strand of hair behind her ear.


	5. military

Masa had simultaneously been both more withdrawn than usual and more lively than usual. It was a strange transformation, and every one of her friends had gone on normally as if it happened all the time. Jacob, however, felt cheated out of his imprint. Rosemary was sucking up all of Masa's time (and affection), and Jacob did not like that at all.

They spend all of their free time together, walking, talking, eating, whispering about who knows what in French. Sometimes Jacob suspects that they are talking about him, but he could never be entirely sure, and so he tries to write it off as paranoia, which it was, probably.

Maybe.

Having Rosemary around showed a whole different side to Masa that Jacob had never imagined existed, though. She seemed more...soft. As if a gaussian blur had surrounded her form. She also seemed more protective? Rose was her little sister, she looked old enough to take care of herself, and yet Masa spent a large amount of time trying to isolate her away from others. Based off her past comments about her sister, Jacob assumed that she was protecting others at first, but upon looking at the way she cradled her head in her lap, he began thinking otherwise. At first it made him uncomfortable, up until Marc explained to him that family relations were different in other cultures, and that speakers of romantic languages often are more affectionate to friends and family than non-romantic language speaking people. This both relieved and annoyed Jacob. Wasn't he a friend? Why wasn't Masa more affectionate to him? Was he just another disposable 'friend' like all the others?

"Have you actually talked to her about your feelings? Your intentions?" Seth asks him one day as they meandered through the forest.

"No," Jacob says, "I shouldn't have to."

"An imprint doesn't equal a mind reader." Seth treads cautiously, "She might have no idea."

Jacob clenches his fist at the thought.

-

At the blue house, Masa's group and Rosemary were chatting about something Jacob didn't care to care about. He was told by Marc that Masa was upstairs in her room (the attic), and that's where he was going. Finally, a moment alone with his imprint, after so many hours taken away...

The room is plain, without decoration, only a few photo frames on a wooden dresser next to the attic window. Masa is slouching on the headboard, knees drawn up, as she reads what appears to be a letter.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you to knock?"

Jacob ignores this.

He sits down at the foot of the bed, admiring the sunlight on her face, glancing at the black and white photo on the dresser of a happy couple, "I want you to meet my friends."

Masa does not look up from her letter, "You have friends?" This did not come out in a rude manner, but rather genuine. "You spend all your damn time following me around, I was beginning to think you were a loner."

She shifts her position so that she's sitting up straight, and her red cotton jacket slips and gives Jacob a view of a white, sheer, oh-so-transparent chemise. He blushes and tries not to stare. Masa doesn't seem to notice.

"—We're having a bonfire next week," Jacob reaches for her hand, which had fallen at her side when she sat up, "You should come." He carefully made sure to leave out Rosemary, though he was sure Paul could distract her should that fail.

Masa pulls her hand away to fold away the letter laying on her lap, "Whatever, fine." Tucking it out of sight in the drawer in her bedside table, Jacob spots more envelopes and paper in there.

His curiosity gets the better of him.

"I didn't think you were the type to write letters," he takes his hand back, setting it in his lap, "you're always on that phone of yours."

"I'm not the type to write letters," Masa fumbles around her jacket pockets for a carton of cigarettes, then the lighter, "Those are from my Father."

Jacob perks up, "All of them?"

A wave of her hand, a dismissal, "Some from my mother, but most are from him." she finds her lighter and begins to smoke, "He likes to pretend he cares."

In a moment of boldness, and perhaps foolishness, Jacob reaches over and takes the cigarette away from Masa's lips, "These things will kill you, you kno—"

"Shut the fuck up."

She swipes it back, harshly, looking like she had just refrained from hitting him, "What the fuck do you know, you're just a damn kid." She runs her fingers through her hair, "God you're still only fucking _sixteen._ What the fuck are you doing wasting your life with a crowd of hopeless twenty year olds?"

It was the most Jacob had heard Masa say. This splurge of sudden emotion gave raise to goosebumps on his skin, and made his heart sink. He had upset her. That was not his job.

She curls back up again, and Jacob wants nothing more than to swoop in and embrace her, "I'm sorry," he starts, "Shit, I'm sorry."

"You're just a fucking kid," she repeats, whispering almost harshly, mostly to herself, as she places her forehead in the palm of her hand, "go talk with kids your age, ride a fucking bike, spray paint an alleyway, live your life!" Her fingers clutch tightly at her hair, "At you age, I was fucking up with other teenagers," she drifts off, muttering words that Jacob could not understand.

"It's just," Jacob barley catches her words, "nobody's ever stayed this long."

They sit in silence until Rosemary waltzes into the room and into Masa's arms, and suddenly, it's as if Masa hadn't just blown up in his face, and she returns to being the calm and cool girl he's in absolute love with.

-

"Tonight?" It comes out louder than he wanted.

Masa doesn't even spare him a glance, "They never have been well organised."

"Tonight's the bonfire!"

"It'll be done before then, if you're worried." She applies a ghastly shade of powder to her face, and moves to add on rogue, "I just want to get this over with."

Jacob begins to pace. Well, pace as much as he can in the small white bathroom, "Do they even have a stage?"

"All the world's a stage." she quotes, "They're setting up lights out back. The real thing too--Source Fours and Scoops and all."

He pauses, in the middle of finding another thing to protest about when he noticed her reflection in the mirror. Masa looked a little like a clown. A cute one, to be sure, despite her hair being tucked into a wig cap.

"Is it...Are you supposed to look like that?" his tone is playful, but hers is anything but.

"You have to apply stage makeup like this, otherwise the lights will wash your face out." Fake eyelashes are applied, and Jacob hardly recognises his imprint. "It'll look normal on stage."

Jacob opens his mouth but is interrupted by an equally made-up Rose trotting into the room. She smiles sweetly at them both before asking Masa to help her with something. She leaves without saying goodbye to Jacob, as if she had forgotten he was there.

"Hey," the red-headed woman, Ava, peaks her head into the bathroom, "don't worry about being late to your thing, we should be done by nine at the worst." She smiles, and Jacob returns it, despite not feeling all that happy or assured. He had everything planned for tonight. Showing her around the reservation and meeting his pack and Bella, sharing food and stories...Masa was not spontaneous, but her "friends" sure were...Why tonight of all nights?

-

If there was ever any doubt that his imprint was beautiful, it was gone now.

The woman on stage is nothing like the woman he knew beforehand. She is open, loud, even desperate. And Jacob loves it.

In his eyes, she even outshines Rose, who is equally as big on stage alongside her sister. Yes, they were right in saying that Rose was made for the spotlight, but they were wrong when they stated that Masa was meant to blend in the crowd. Surely they saw that now, right?

Sure, maybe her voice wasn't as classically trained as Rosemary's, but the raw emotion placed into it more than made up for it. Jacob had half a mind to critique Masa's friends' choice on making her Roxie rather than Velma...He wouldn't have minded seeing her in some of her numbers. His teenage hormones aside, he is glad he got to witness this side of his beloved that he wouldn't have otherwise seen if he had convinced her to ditch the musical. Surely this is a sign of newfound trust in him. Having her let him see her like this...Yes, that is what this is, definitely.

The curtain falls, and he finds Masa cleaning off her makeup next to a hose in a grassy area. Her clothes are slightly wet and see-through and he offers his jacket to her like a gentleman, which she takes, much to his surprise (and delight).

"Are you ready to go?" He beams, not being able to hide his excitement.

"Hm?" she looks up at him before nodding, "Oh, right. Let me just wait for Rose--"

Jacob doesn't let his heart sink; Paul can distract Rose. Everything will be alright.

He notices her hair, cut short up to her chin, and asks her about it.

"My hair was too long to fit comfortably under the wig." she sniffs and Jacob worries slightly about her catching a cold, "I needed a change, anyways."

He leans in, catching the moment before it's gone, and whispers in her ear, "You look good as a blonde." Time freezes for him, and he indulges in the strands of hair tickling his cheek and the scent of her sweat and perfume.

There is no reply from her save for an amused grunt. He counts it as a victory, and counts the weeks before he will be allowed to be that close to her again, and then closer.

-

The ride is quiet, and there are no whisperings in French this time because Rose is not in the car. He had asked Masa about this, and she had replied that Rosemary would find her way on her own. Rather than question this statement, he rejoiced in having just a few precious minutes alone with her.

He steals glances at her every few seconds, wondering what she's thinking about as she stares out the car window, chin on the back of her hand. She is wearing a cream cardigan sweater with wooden buttons that Jacob has never seen before. He asks her if it's new and Masa only shrugs.

They arrive at 9:02, and he introduces her to his pack mates and family and Bella, and Masa is uncomfortable at all the attention, he can tell.

Bella is the most polite, second to none but maybe Seth and Emily, but Jacob senses that Masa prefers the company of the former two, because something about Emily (her scar, no doubt) leaves her feeling uneasy.

At eleven at night, or maybe two in the morning, they are walking through the forest, and though Jacob knows he has nothing to worry about, he wonders why Masa looks so calm, because it's pitch black out here, with only the slightest streams of moonbeams coming through the trees.

He asks her why she isn't afraid.

"There are worse things in the woods than wolves." and they are silent for the rest of the night, even when he drives her back to the blue house.

-

It's September, and the grey skies rolling in from the north remind him of his imprint's eyes.

He sits besides Marc at the blue house, and steals glances at Masa (as he always does), who is sitting on the chair perpendicular to the sofa where he is. She is fiddling around on her phone looking serious and a little bit frustrated. Jacob knows it's about Rose. While she worries about her sister, her friends are talking about their high school days, and he tries to loose himself in their conversation.

"—No, but Mr. Schrader was hot." Ava says as-a-matter-of-factly

"Ew! Gross!" Maria sticks her tongue out, "Way too old! Mr. Walker was the real looker."

"All you bitches are crazy," Daisy states, "Mrs. Paige was the only teacher worth fucking."

Antony agreed, raising his beer bottle, "Fuck yeah, Mrs. Paige!"

"You're all disgusting."

Masa's voice, jagged like broken glass, cuts through the conversation.

"It's just kink talking Masa, it's harmless—"

"Bullshit!" She leans forward in her seat, no longer slumping, "It's fucking pedophilia, don't act like it isn't. If it was a normal thirty or forty year old man with a sixteen year old girl, you would all want him arrested, but you're blinded by your stupid fetishes."

The group had shrunken down, though Marc looks as if he had expected this at any moment, and he looks on at Masa, listening to every work she says, "It's psychologically wrong, the teenager isn't emotionally or mentally mature enough to be with an adult, and it's the fucking adult's responsibility to keep away from the teenager. Why do you think statutory rape is real?"

She gets up, hugging her coat tighter to her form, "I'm leaving."

Jacob watches her go, stunned, before getting up himself and following after her.

Well fuck.

If she felt this strongly about age gaps, then their relationship...Was it all platonic? Is she playing with him? Or...Or is she willing to wait for him? Is that what she's doing?

When he catches up to her, she is furiously lighting a cigarette. She says nothing to him, but when her cigarette is finally lit, she breathes out and calms down. They stay silent for what feels like hours.

"...When I was sixteen, I had an affair with an older man."

He does not respond, and she goes on,

"He was...is a friend of my parents." Her voice sounds strange to Jacob; not angry, sad, or hurt, just full of regret, perhaps. "Four years later, Rose had him too." She adds on, almost as an afterthought.

Jacob does not know what to say, and Masa breathes out sharply, something that sounds like a small laugh, "When he found out I was my father's daughter, he freaked out." She sniffs, and this time, Jacob is almost sure that she's about to cry, though she doesn't look it, "Though, not for the reason you might think."

Jacob does not know what to think.

"It was even worse after he was with Rose, he avoided our parents like the plague." Masa smirks as if she had shared a secret joke, "As loose and open as my father is about love and sexual freedom, this man knew that if he found out, he would kill him again."

Jacob does not know what to feel, and he is almost sure that the last word out of Masa's mouth was imagined. At least, he hopes it was, "...Why didn't he know before? I mean, about who you were." He hopes he's not overstepping his boundaries, and he almost sighs in relief when Masa responds.

"Rose and I are my parent's best kept secret." Another bitter chuckle, and he decides to try to drive his questions away from her parents.

"...Why did you do it."

"Because I was sixteen, and thought I had it all figured out. I was legal, and I thought I had the emotional maturity to sleep with him. But I was wrong." She throws her cigarette at the ground and puts it out with her foot, "He wasn't that exciting anyways; he was a poet trying to be an intellectual, just like my parents told me, and just like I told Rose." Masa laughs quietly again, though it is not bitter like before. "You should have seen him...He was like putty in my hands."

She pushes her short hair behind her ears, showing off a pair of blue studs that Jacob has never seen before, "You would have thought it was his first time in Paris the way he was lost...I hardly did anything, I just stood there in my coat, lighting up my cigarettes, and having them fall to the ground one by one...He looked at me and in me, saw my father and mother, probably, and then I asked him if he had a lighter and I let him light my cigarette."

Silence blankets over them for a moment.

"...I'm sorry."

His breath hitched, "...What?"

She rubs her eyes with the ball of her hand, "I'm the adult. I should have pushed you away."

-

Jacob is quiet as they go back inside. He walks Masa up to her room in the attic, and sits on her bed with her. He glances at her side table, and curiosity gets the best of him, "Who are they?"

Masa turns to see where he is gesturing towards the happy couple in the black and white photo.

"My parents."

They are young. That is the first thing that enters Jacob's mind. The second thing is their clothing: perfect replicas of what was worn in the 1930s. He hopes to God that they are simply at a themed party, despite the photo itself looking old and of bad quality, because so far, everything is pointing to his imprint's parents being bloodsuckers.

He leaves without another word, but says goodnight, even thought it is only eight.

-

It's been three days since Masa's confession. Jacob hasn't had time to see her, or rather, she has been slipping through his fingers.

He is at home, working on a car, wiping some grease from his cheek when he hears the doors to the garage open up. Turning his head, he expects to see Seth, and hopes to see Masa.

It is Rose.

He rises so fast, he hits his head on the roof of the hood, and if he wasn't a shifter it might have hurt, but he still would have been distracted from the pain thanks to this unexpected visit.

Rosemary is dressed elegantly and modestly, wearing a deep maroon velvet dress that reminds him of bo peep. It makes him feel dirty and inadequate, and he finds himself wishing that she had come earlier or later.

She clears her throat, "I must say, I am impressed that you have...stuck around this long with Masa." she pauses, looking around the garage, "Considering you two aren't sleeping together."

Jacob feels sick.

He feels dizzy when she walks over to him, fluttering her finger over his skin, raising goosebumps, "Usually men who are _head over heels_ for my sister are soon swayed away by myself."

Jacob tries not to let her get to him, but oh she is so good at getting under his skin.

"And after that, they leave us."

He snaps.

He yells at her, gets angry.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you here? Why do you ruin your sister's relationships with others?"

_"Because she belongs to me."_

He finds himself speechless and dumbfounded as Rose turns on her heels to leave. At the door, Embry enters, having heard him yelling surely, and rushes to his side. Jacob hadn't realised he was on his knees.

-

Jacob doesn't tell Masa about Rose, but now that she's confronted him, he notes that the way the two hold each other is too close for comfort. There's a desperation in Roses's touches, and it bothers him. It bothers him so much.

He decides to tell Masa about himself. His pack, His secret. To tell her about how he has imprinted on her and how much he loves her.

Into the woods near his home, he leads her. Practically dragging her, he takes her, and on her part, she does not complain, only fusses and curses when she is scratched by a branch. They reach a clearing, a meadow in the springtime, and he stops, turning to look at her.

God she is beautiful.

Swallowing his nervousness, his fear, he tells her not to be afraid.

"That would be the red flag telling me that I should be afraid."

He laughs, but it is only slightly forced; this was serious, and as much as he loved her dry wit, he needed her to understand that she would not be harmed.

"I've been...I've been hiding something."

"No way." She pulls away the cigarette at her lips, glancing at his bag of clothes, "You got a bomb in there?"

"Masa, please."

There must have been something in his voice then, because immediately, her demeanor changes. She is serious and standing at attention. Good.

"I...I know how you feel about the supernatural." He gulps, "And about...about things that "shouldn't exist.""

She tilts her head at him, but continues to be silent.

He takes a deep breath.

"I am one of those things."

The woods grow silent.

"Show me."

It's a command. A solid command, and he is more than happy to obey. He shifts before her, tearing his clothes and growing to the monstrous-sized wolf he is. When he is done, he looks at her, fearful of her reaction. Of her rejection. Of her fear.

If she is surprised, then she does not show it. She does not say anything to him, but she sighs and runs her hand through his fur, almost petting him. He eagerly leans into her touch, and when he does, she mutters and whispers in French under her breath. It irritates him, and he shifts back.

"Say something!" He's close to yelling, and his imprint looks at him, unfazed at his nakedness.

"This explains a lot."

It is not what he wanted her to say, but it is better than what he was afraid she would say.

"Get dressed before you catch a cold."

He blushes, and reaches into his bag to dress as Masa turns away out of courtesy, though Jacob wishes she would look. When he is done, he takes her hands and marvels and soars that she let her hands be held.

"There's more."

Masa looks at him straight in the eyes, and Jacob wants to kiss her. Kiss her so badly, but he knows that if he does, she would slap him, and though it wouldn't hurt him physically, it would bruise his heart to know he had upset Masa.

"There's...there's this thing we shapeshifters have," he gulps, and he feels his heart pounding a mile a minute, "it's basically to ensure that the gene gets passed on, we...we imprint on people." he licks his lips and tries to gauge a reaction from masa, but all he gets is perfect neutrality, "When we do this, we feel an instant attraction to them." he smiles, smiles wide, "It's like finding our soulmate."

Masa is silent. Silent for a long time, and it scares Jacob.

"You're disgusting."

He stops breathing.

"Don't touch me."

She pulls away from him, and all at once his world is crashing down, and he reaches for her and grabs her arm roughly...More rough than he needs to.

"Get away from me!"

"Masa," he says her name with desperation, with plea, "Masa, I love you!"

"Liar!"

She manages to tug her arm away somehow, "I should have known...I should have know better," she looks about to break, and it's the most vulnerable he's seen her and he wants nothing more than to hold her in his arms, "That's the reason you've stayed this long! You don't like me, your stupid fucking genes like my genes!" Her voice is rising and her face is twisted into something painful and...ugly.

"I should have known...That fucking scar on that woman's face--"

"It was an accident, he lost his tempe--"

"HE ALMOST KILLED HIS WIFE! HIS SO CALLED LOVE-OF-HIS-LIFE!" she cuts him off, pointing at him accusingly as if he had a part in the mutilating of Emily's face, "Where I come from, when a man hits wife, it's abuse!"

And Jacob shakes his head, he shakes it because Masa does not understand, "No, you don't understand."

"Don't fucking tell me what I do and don't understand!" it's the angriest he's ever seen a person, and he almost feels afraid, "And that fucking pedophile with the kid?? The kid that he loves so much, that's what that it, isn't it? This imprinting shit."

"It's innocent, he loves her!"

"Bullshit!" she huffs, "You know what your freak cult is doing to that girl? They're raising her in an environment where they're conditioning her to love someone and end up with someone, that's fucking child abuse, and don't tell me it isn't, because I've seen it! You think because of his 'innocent' love, that she won't date other boys as a teenager? You think that because of his 'innocent' love, he won't desire her when she develops and turns sixteen? You think that he won't fuck her the first chance he'll get when he can't be arrested for it regardless of her maturity?" Tears prick at her eyes, and she looks frustrated at herself for crying. "You...This is not about love, it has nothing to do with that...If you had met another girl with the same capability to carry on your fucking trait, it would have been her. It would have been her. Don't give me this soulmate bullshit, it's just natural selection, you're a fucking animal."

Had it been any other woman, he would have grown angry and retaliated, but as it was, he finds himself powerless in the light of her wrath.

"I thought you cared."

This statement hurts him the most.

"No wonder Rose hasn't fucked you yet."

This statement surprises him, and he finds his voice again, "You...You know?"

She scoffs, as if he had questioned her intelligence, "Of course I know! She's done this for years, and she'll continue doing it until we _die_." She wipes the tears from her eyes, "Rose and I share a fate you cannot understand...Will never understand." Masa balls up her hands into fists at her side, "Our existence is lonely and ephemeral. We shouldn't be alive."

Jacob feels the terrible stabbing burn at the back of his throat that tells him he is about to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jaja fuck finishing this took forever. almost a year. over a year. i remember writing down the first sentences at the top back in january...wow.
> 
> one more chapter and i'm done, eugh.
> 
> OH, BTW: [here is a reference picture of rose and masa i drew like 840329840932 years ago](http://gyazo.com/236b03786488a32dc0b0b962fd8108be)

**Author's Note:**

> i've wanted to try my hand at a dumb imprint love story for ages, and i've had many ideas over that time. some stories involved witches, others magical creatures, and one an odd and loyal trio of friends. this one seemed right and short, and will bring across my feelings for these stories; which is to say: most, if not all of them, are terrible and terribly written with drab characters and even worse plots.


End file.
